


A Study in Sex

by psychoffic



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Dom/sub Undertones, Fingerfucking, First Time, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, John Watson Has a Large Cock, Love Bites, Love Confessions, Lube, M/M, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Painful Sex, Prompt Fic, Shameless Smut, Top John Watson, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, pain and pleasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychoffic/pseuds/psychoffic
Summary: Sherlock is an inexperienced virgin overwhelmed with sexual frustration. John has a large cock and is afraid of hurting Sherlock. Somehow they make it work.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	A Study in Sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sittingonaporch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sittingonaporch/gifts).



The solar system was one big mess. It contained trillions upon trillions of particles that were too old for the human brain to comprehend. Large planets a staggering size compared to the tiny Earth that floated through dark matter. And humans, small living creatures, were nothing but a speck in this gigantic universe. The point is, the solar system was irrelevant.

Sherlock viewed sex the same way. 

Around the age of 10, he began to wake up with a raging hardness in-between his legs. It was almost to the point of pain, making his hand instinctively jerk towards it to provide any sort of relief. He felt disgusted at how his body betrayed him. It never came to his mind to actually deal with his cock. Not once did he have an urge strong enough that prompted him to pleasure himself; it was unneeded in every sense. The human body was simply the vessel for his mind. 

His parents had never really discussed sex, but he picked up a few things from school, and the whole thing disgusted him. He hated how his mind was clouded with lust, and one simple thought of anything remotely sexual would cause his cock to harden. Prime example, a fucking water bottle. He got hard to a water bottle, one passing day at the gym. Sherlock had never felt more betrayed as his pants tented. It was at that moment, that his rage exploded and he turned on himself. He began to hate his body, especially the sexual parts. It was so needy. Water, food, pleasure. It was constantly muddling his thoughts as he trudged through life. He refused to coddle it. 

It became a tender relationship. His mind kept his body alive to a certain point, afterall, he still needed it. But his body would betray him at times, making him weak in the legs when he did not eat days upon days and dizzy from dehydration. 

Eventually the hormones wore off, and everything stabilized. He grew up into a young man, and had no one to lust for. It was better this way. He could think clearly, without the intruding emotions his body brought on. His cock became a distant thought in his mind, stowed away for the simple part of knowing it was there. 

That is, until John came along. 

A new feeling crept through him as John made a place for himself in the detectives world. In the first few months, he could not quite place it. He cared for his new friend. The soldier made the cases easier, he shouldered the burdens, and guided Sherlock through the deductions with his thoughtful questions. Then it transitioned into something else and his body began to betray him once more. 

Emotions were a confusing subject Sherlock rarely broached, yet with John, he was willing to go down that path. It was strange to wake up in the mornings with an achingly hard cock, and John on his mind. It was foreign. 

For the first few times it happened, Sherlock brushed it off as an anomaly. But then it kept happening over and over, and he realized that his body was telling him what his mind could not process. He was attracted to John, emotionally and physically. 

But it was difficult to swipe past the barrier he created in his mind. The one that clearly stated emotion was found on the losing side, and he had no need for relationships. What use could he have for them? It was silly to depend on a person so much. It was so silly, yet he was plagued with thoughts and dreams of John. Now, more than ever, he needed the soldier. Sherlock could not imagine walking the crime scenes and fighting the networks without his trusty soldier next to him. Because as smart as Sherlock was, John was different. He had an instinct the detective did not possess, and quite the steady hand that had pulled the trigger multiple times; saving Sherlock. 

That emotional connection blossomed in his chest when John finally sat him down, and laid it all out. The soldier clearly stated his feelings; he liked Sherlock and wanted a relationship. Sherlock was confused, his head titled as he processed the confession. For the first time he saw fear in John's eyes as the silence stretched. But he had nothing to fear, because Sherlock would never reject John. He couldn't. He liked John, perhaps more than liked. But the word that went beyond ‘like’ was not something he had the bravery to say yet. He agreed with John, there was a connection here, and he listened to what the soldier needed. Reciprocation. 

Sherlock stuttered about when they broached the subject of love. It was foreign. It was unknown. He was the one who would analyze relationships and ponder on love. In the world of crime, intimacy brought unrest. It led to murders of passion and unthinkable actions prompted by the feeling. Sherlock was not a silly small-minded human like all the rest of him. But he did like John. He loved the deep blue eyes that gazed at him with adoration every time he rattled off deductions. He loved the strong tan hands that gripped his wrist in times of danger, pulling him to safety. He liked John and he did not have the heart to reject the soldier; so he tried. 

They took it slow. From small touches, to gentle kisses. But nothing more than that. It was an unspoken agreement to wait. Sherlock for one, was not sure if he could go there. His mind was stuttering about, refusing to take the final step, when his body clearly screamed its intentions. And every time the subject of going further physically was brought up with John, the soldier diverted the attention to something else. John was good at talking his way out of things. Or avoiding the subject completely. Sherlock was confused by John's delicate dance of avoidance around the topic of physicality. Of the two of them, it should be John aching for touch, not the other way around. 

\---

It was a bright morning, filled with bustling sounds of London, when the detective woke to a familiar feeling. Sherlock could only frown in confusion as he stared down at his cock. It was hard, standing up clearly against his dark curls in the soft morning light. He had a vivid dream that night. Where John had crawled on top, kissed his neck gently, murmured sweet things as he pushed Sherlocks thighs apart. He could almost feel John's weight against his skin, even now as he sat awake. And the thing was, Sherlock desperately wished it was true, that it was not a dream. 

He reached down, gingerly wrapping his hand around his aching hardness. It was an unfamiliar feeling to touch himself. He had tried a few times to pleasure himself but never gotten close to actually finishing. Perhaps it was the barrier in his mind. Though, that barrier had begun to crumble ever since he gazed upon John. Frustration bubbled in his chest every time he would wake up with burning desire, unable to do anything about it. He had no experience. But he wanted to learn. He wanted to take that step with John. 

Pale fingers gingerly pulled over the skin. He moved his hand in a gentle up and down motion. It sent a searing spark of pleasure though his skin with every movement; it felt so good, as good as the rush he got when he pushed the needle into his skin. His hand sped up, delicately thumbing at the head every time he did so. Sherlocks lips parted as he threw his head back, charcoal curls matting to his forehead from the sheen of sweat that had gathered. 

A tight coil of pleasure began to pool in his stomach. Sherlock writhed on the bed, the feeling unknown, yet wanted. He slowed down as the pleasure got too much, making his vision dim with the lust. He could feel his balls tightening, heavy with release. But he was not ready, not yet. He needed something else.

Suddenly John popped into his head. As from the dream, he was propped between Sherlocks legs. One of his large hands was settled on Sherlocks sternum, holding him down as another ghosted down his skin. He could see John's lips quirk into a smile as he drew delicate noises from the detective. 

Sherlock arched up into his own pale hand, his eyes tightly closed as he continued to envision the soldier above him. He could see the tan hand gliding down, past his hip bone and teasingly around his cock. John smirked as Sherlock pleaded with his eyes, bucking his hips up, asking. But the soldier did not give in, instead his hand traveled further down, past the balls and to the detectives virgin entrance. 

Sherlock's eyes flew open as he felt his fingers circle the tight muscle there. A bubble of desperation floated through his chest as he imagined it was John there, not him, pressing around the muscle and into him. Oh, how would it feel to be fucked by John? Would it be better than this? Could it even get better?

Sherlock did not get too ponder much longer as the pleasure in his stomach reached scalding lengths. With more bravery than he expected, Sherlock pushed his finger at the entrance; not going inside, but merely applying pressure. With John's face as his imagery, Sherlock came with a cry. His cock spasmed, throwing ribbons of cum onto his chest. His hand that circled his entrance left to claw at the sheets as he rode out his orgasm. It was the best feeling he had experienced. He panted loudly in the silent room as his hands dropped away. His body went limp as he stared at the ceiling, riding out his afterglow. That felt good. So good. 

He wondered how it would feel with John.

\---

Sherlock gingerly stirred his tea, adding copious amounts of sugar. He felt Johns questioning gaze on his back. The detective usually added a spoonful at most, yet he was heaping the grains in like his life depended on it. Sherlock gripped the counter in a deadly hold as he continued to stir, bringing forth squeaking noises as the spoon grated at the cup. His mind was still reeling with what happened this morning. It was perhaps the most inexperienced thing he could ever think, but that was Sherlock's first orgasm. And it felt so good. He was almost tempted to go again, but he knew it would bring suspicion from John if he idled too long. But now, with John sitting in the living room typing out his blog, Sherlock could not think straight. His mind raced through the dream and his fantasies as he pleasured himself. It was almost painful for his eyes to settle onto the soldier's sturdy form, knowing he was orgasming to the imagery of those tan hands on his body. He could not look John in the eye with the embarrassment flooding through him. 

“Sherlock.”

“Yes?” Sherlock squeaked out, his hands pausing their intense stirring. He heard the typing stop as the chair behind him shifted lightly. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” The detective threw the spoon into the sink with more force than necessary. He padded over to the couch, flopping down as he sipped the silky sweet liquid. His tongue was scalded with the searing heat, but it was enough of a distraction to look anywhere but at John. 

“Well, for one, since when have you developed a preference for tea consisting of mostly sugar?” 

“Since… since today infact.”

John raised an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. Sherlock did not grace the soldier with an answer as he gave a pointed sip. His bright eyes drifted down John's body unknowingly, settling on the tan hands that hovered above the keys. The same hands that held him down and touched his body gently in his dream. Sherlock swallowed loudly, crossing his legs as a shot of pleasure raced down his spine. Not here. Not now. 

Dark blue eyes followed the motion, not missing a single reaction. Sherlock cowered in on himself, sipping the tea furiously as he felt John's eyes roll down his body and settle on his legs; which were pressed together tightly. The blue eyes hovered there for a second, narrowing as they concluded whatever it was. Sherlock desperately hoped he was not giving himself away. 

“Sherlock, are you high?”

“What?!” Sherlock sputtered out. Shock overtook his body, allowing him to uncross his legs without the fear of his erection showing though he pajama pants. Of course he wasn't high. He had been clean for six months now, thank you very much. Mostly for John's sake, who would get extremely worried every time Sherlock pressed the needle into his skin. There was nothing to worry about. He had it under control. More control than his body currently had. 

“You are red in the face, shifting constantly, and adding a delirious amount of sugar to your tea. Clear signs. I am not an idiot Sherlock.”

“I have been clean since you asked!” 

“Really?”

“I don't have to prove anything.” Sherlock muttered. He took the last sip of tea before strutting over to the kitchen, dunking the delicate ceramic into the kitchen sink. With his back to John he took a few deep breaths, gathering himself. He could ponder on their relationship later, for now, there were more pressing matters. 

“Grab your coat John. We are heading to the PD.” 

The detective rushed out of the kitchen to his bedroom to change. He heard John mutter something under his breath, clearly unhappy to be dragged around this early in the morning. The detective glanced at his phone. He had not received any messages, but Lestrade would have a case for him. A case would be good. Sherlock smiled to himself. There, that was better. Their usual routine, at least for now.

\---

John managed to press in a chaste kiss to his cheek as they got in the cab. Though Sherlock made a point to shy away from it, afraid of his body. It felt surreal to be at the mercy of his body for the first time in many years. Only John could make him come apart like this. Only the soldier could take out every little compartment of self-control Sherlock had, and throw it around, messing up the whole system. For the first time, it was his mind pleading with the body to control itself, and it made Sherlock feel weak in every sense. 

The ride to the PD was silent. John would continually glance over him, the familiar expression of a doctor’s observant look painted on his tan cheeks as he watched his partner. Sherlock ignored the glances, pretending he did not notice them. He stared out the window, trying to gather his thoughts before he was presented with the PD case. 

His pale hand, which had laid limp in his lap, was overtaken by a sturdy tan one half-way through the ride. Sherlock sighed internally as John's familiar skin brushed against his. It was a small move that made his heart tingle, and well, something else. That hand had been somewhere else, in his dream at least. But he ignored that train of thought, letting it pass through his head as he focused solely on the feeling of their intertwined fingers. John's hand was much larger than his, overlapping his thin digits. The solder radiated heat, whilst the detective was typically cold to the touch. It was the perfect match. 

The cab came to halt with a screech, jerking the two men out of their hand-holding stupor. Sherlock got out, slamming the door as he gazed at the gray building. A sense of adrenaline began to race through his body as his mind zeroed in on the possible cases hiding within the cement walls. Oh, what would it be today? Hopefully something interesting, anything to take his mind off of what occurred this morning. 

The duo had not even set more than five steps past the circular doors before Lestrade was colliding into them. His hands, which held a bagel, opened with surprise, dropping the still warm bread to the ground. Sherlock quirked a delicate eyebrow as he watched Lestrade gaze at his breakfast with disappointed puppy eyes. 

“My bagel.” 

Pale green eyes rolled at the sad tone brought forth from Lestrade; the PD’s leading man, sopping over some food. 

“Lestrade, any new cases?” Sherlock clasped his hands in a childish manner, resisting the urge to bounce on his heels. He felt John's heated eyes glance at him. He could almost hear the soldier scolding him for the sheer excitement he was showing at the thought of murder. Never mind that, he needed this right now. Anything to get his mind off of himself and John. He needed a crisp distraction. 

“Uh, yeah. Well, there was one yesterday. But we got the offender, so not really. You could have just asked through text you know.” Lestrade finally raised his brown eyes, gazing at the detective with an accusatory look. 

“You are telling me, that in the miles upon miles of the London area, there is not a single case?”

Lestrade sighed. “Nothing that would interest you. It had been considerably quiet.”

“That doesn't sound right.”

“Well, it doesn't sound horrible either. A nice break from murders is long overdue. You should enjoy it, or- ...as much as you can enjoy not stooping over a dead body.”

Sherlock chose to ignore the last remark as he rocked back on his shoes; they squealed against the pristinely cleaned floor. He brought a hand to rake through his curls as frustration bloomed in his chest. No case. In the whole of London. Not a single fucking murder. How absolutely boring. 

He felt Lestrade shove past him, muttering something about paperwork and meetings. John exchanged a quick pleasantry with the police official before he turned to look at the detective. 

Sherlock’s mouth was parted slightly, exhaling breaths of frustrations. Delicate eyebrows were furrowed, slightly creasing the usually smooth skin. Sherlock clenched his hand, pulling a few strands before dropping it back to his side. He turned his head, gazing at John who was looking at him with a look close to disbelief. 

“So you're telling me we took an hour long ride through London morning traffic, just to go back home? Did you forget you can text Sherlock? That technology exists?”

“I was distracted.”

“With what?”

“...Nothing.” Sherlock replied, brushing past the soldier and out the doors. The wind blew languidly, circling past his ear and through his hair, bringing forth a shiver. Pale hands clutched the coat closer to his body as he walked to the road. 

Suddenly a deadly grip stopped him in his tracks. He jerked forward as his feet stuttered. With a surprised ‘oh’ he looked over at John. A dark expression had overcome the soldier as he leaned forward, leaving a breath of space between their faces. 

“Sherlock, are you high?”

“I'm not.” Sherlock bit out. His cheeks were quickly painted a deep red at the sudden proximity; eyes flickering away from the intense gaze directed at him and down to the burgundy lips. Could John not clearly see he was not high? No, it was something else. Lust. The burning lust that was sparking though his body, even at the simple touch on his arm. Fuck his body. 

John racked his eyes down the detectives lithe figure. He tried to catalogue every movement, every shiver. But it was all too unclear. All he knew was that Sherlock was not himself. Something had shifted between them. There was always a delicate balance as they experimented through touches and kisses, but the balance seemed to be off-kilter today. John was unsure if it was him, or Sherlock. 

Sherlock whipped out a hand, stopping a cab as it rolled past him. With more force than he cared to admit, Sherlock managed to rip out of the soldiers hold. He scooted into the car, leaving as much space as possible between them as they settled for the ride. 

“You look a little flushed there matey.” The cabby commented, his eyes peering into the mirror. Sherlock curled his lip in snarl, not bothering to reply as he glowered out the window. 

Would everyone just leave him alone? Was it a crime now to think through his feelings, to organize the chaos of lust and desire coursing through his veins? Why were feelings so hard? Why was his body so difficult? Why? Why? Why- could he not stop thinking about John on top of him. 

Sherlock crossed his legs together as they raced down the road, eyes squeezed tightly with frustration. John observed the detective quietly the whole ride. 

\---

The minute the familiar doors of home came into view, Sherlock was out of the cab. The driver yelled in protest as the detective bounced out of the still-moving vehicle. He paid no attention to the yells as he raced inside, past Mrs. Hudson and up the stairs. John would pay for the ride. His estimations placed it at that he would be able to sneak to his room and think in silence before John was even at the front door. 

He greatly miscalculated. 

Because before he knew it, heavy footsteps echoed behind him, slamming the door to the flat shut and grabbing him by his collar. Sherlock let out a noise close to a whimper as the collar sliced into his neck, cutting off his air for a few seconds. He stumbled back, trying to catch a breath. His body was maneuvered up against the wall, before John overlapped him, his much larger form pushing in the detectives lithe body. Sherlock gently massaged his throat as the grip loosened. Instead, the tan hands settled on the lapels of his coat, scrunching the material tightly. 

“Sherlock, I am not playing this game.”

“What game?”

“The guess-what-Sherlock-is-thinking-today game. We talked about this, complete honesty. I am not a mind-reader. What is wrong?”

“What makes you think something's wrong.” Sherlock said dryly. His hands settled by his side, clawing at the wall lightly as John pressed into him. It was an overwhelming feeling to sense the heat of John's body, and every ridge of muscle on the detective's skin. It took all his power to focus on the dark blue eyes, and not the muscled thigh pressed up against his cock. 

“Seriously? The minute you came downstairs this morning, something was wrong. Did I do something? Did  _ you _ do something?” John asked. 

“I-” Sherlock licked his lips as he paused, trying to evaluate what the best response was. A wildfire blush spread across his cheeks as he watched John follow the movement. “It doesn't matter.”

“Tell me.” John seethed, the grip on the coat lapels strengthening. 

Sherlock shook his head, curls bouncing back and forth at the rough action. “No. It doesn't matter.”

“It does, tell me.”

“No!” Sherlock raised his voice. He tried to glower over the soldier in any form of intimidation which proved to be fruitless as John dominated him in every emotional and physical sense. 

“Tell me!” John was yelling now. Though the tan skin hid it well, there was still a clear color differentiation as his face became red with frustration. He wanted to shake the detective on the spot. 

“I want you to fuck me! That's what!” Sherlock shouted back. His mouth slackened with horror as he realized what he said. John's grip did not relent. He kept the detective pinned against the wall, though his expression was now contorted in clear shock. Sherlock had to look away as sheer embarrassment clawed at the back of his skull. He did not want to say that. Not at all. But John was stubborn. So fucking stubborn that sometimes he brought the answer from Sherlocks lips due to pinpointed anger. But now, that anger had ebbed away to a raw feeling of openness as he waited for the soldier's response. 

“Are you high?”

“For fucks sake, I am completely sober!”

“But you never asked for this. I mean, you tense up even at a kiss.”

“You think you are confused? I guarantee it's a bigger mess for me. No John, I want you to fuck me.” Sherlock grew bolder, his hands coming up to hold the tan wrists gingerly. 

“Why?” John was peering at him with a look close to suspicion. It was almost laughable. The detective felt slightly insulted that John was not kissing him right now and taking off his clothes. Who was John to suddenly be the cautious and suspicious one? Was it that much of a surprise to progress in a relationship past simply kissing? 

“Because I came today. In the morning. I jerked off and actually finished. And you know what, I finished to you. I imagined you gliding your hands down my body, kissing me. I wanted you on top of me so bad it hurt. That's why. Okay?” Sherlock felt like his head was spinning at the sheer bravery of his babbling tongue. His brain would have never allowed this torrent of words, but it was not the one in control right now. All he could think about was John's warm body pressed against him, those strong hands gripping him still. Fuck, why was John just standing there?

“You want me to-”

“Fuck me, yes John, you heard me right. Now please, just hurry the hell up. Please.” The last word came out as a whimper as he watched John's eyes darken with lust. He could see the soldiers walls of self-control crumbling right before him. Good. He wanted that. Sherlock had flayed himself to the last nerve, leaving his heart open and splayed out for John. Now, all he needed was reciprocation. 

John paused for a few seconds, mulling over his thoughts before his face settled into calm serenity. He gazed at Sherlock with unfiltered lust, finally reciprocating the feeling. Sherlock let out a shaky sigh at the look in his partners eyes. 

“Say it again.”

“I want you to  _ fuck  _ me.” Sherlock clicked his tongue, enhancing every word. 

His lips were quickly overtaken as John pressed into him, barely letting him finish his sentence. Sherlock sighed out at the familiar feeling. The soft skin brushing his, the tongue prodding for entrance. It was familiar, yet not at all. It felt more intense. More heated. There was intent there that had not been present before. 

Sherlock pressed his hips forward, his half-hard cock rubbing against the strong thigh in between his legs. John let out a moan at the movement. A small grin overtook his lips that Sherlock could feel through their kiss. The grin bloomed into a full blown smile as John ripped away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting the two men. 

Sherlock tilted his head as they breathed heavily; staring at each other. One smiling and the other burning with eager lust. 

“John?” The detective questioned. 

“God, I wanted to do this for so long.” Was all the reply he got before John dove back in, clashing their lips. A warm tongue prodded at the detective's mouth. Entrance was granted immediately. Pale hands gripped at the tan arms holding him up against the wall. Sherlock was afraid his legs would give out as he began to earnestly hump against his partners leg. An overwhelming buzz of lust was blooming from his chest, spreading though his body, and making his body hot. He tugged at John's arms, a whine escaping his mouth. 

John pulled away with a wet smack. His eyes flickered down, observing the now red and plump lips of the detective. The man looked absolutely delectable. The pale skin contrasted the wildfire blush, alongside the glazed eyes and ragged moans the detective was letting out. 

Suddenly Sherlock was jostled around. On instinct his legs came up to wrap around John's waist as large hands hauled him upwards. Strong fingers pushed off his thick coat, letting it fall to the floor before kneading the plump ass of the detective. Sherlock let out a shaky breath at the feeling, his face digging into John's neck as he was carried to the bedroom. 

“Going to fuck you till you can’t walk.” John said darkly. His foot kicked the bedroom door open, allowing the two men to barrel in and fall onto the bed. Sherlock let out a grunt as his back hit the slightly-hard mattress. His arms came up to support himself as he stared at John at the edge of the bed. The soldier was towering over him, a lustful look on his face. Sherlock swallowed audibly as John's hand came up, starting to slowly unbutton his shirt. Inch by inch tan skin lined with scars was revealed in all its glory. Sherlock let his eyes roam, the sight making him ache with desire. He watched as the large hands settled on the belt, toying with the metal there. John seemed to pause, a contemplative look on his face. 

“You… you are a virgin.”

“Yes.” Sherlock replied slowly, a delicate eyebrow arching up in confusion. John stilled his hands, dropping his intention to unbuckle the trousers. Instead he leaned forward, pushing the detective onto the bed. Sherlock let himself be manhandled as he was shifted to the side; his legs hanging over the edge. The position allowed John to place himself in between Sherlocks thighs; pressing their cocks together. Sherlock gasped at the feeling, his hips bucking up involuntarily. John let out a low moan, large hands coming up to grab the desperate pale hips thrusting up. 

The detective whined as he was stopped forcefully. The white hot burning desire in his belly burned through his skin. He wondered if he could feel any hotter. If the knot in his stomach could get any tighter. He wanted his release so bad, yet not at all. He wanted to wait. It was too soon. His body, on the other hand, disagreed. Sherlock attempted to move his hips again, but instead, John leaned down, pressing their bodies together. 

Thin legs wrapped around the tan waist as John began to kiss him roughly. Sherlock let himself be pressed into the bed, loving the feeling of absolute domination. He complied with every unspoken order. Allowing John to move him however he pleased, opening his mouth at the command of a strong tongue. 

He felt the buttons of his shirt pop open one by one. A calloused finger ran down the exposed skin until he was unfurled like a butterfly; his shirt hanging off on the sides as his chest melded with the air. John pulled away from the kiss, instead leaning over to place his wet mouth on the pale neck before him. Sherlocks hands shot forward as the assault on his neck began. John nipped at the skin, biting roughly to leave a bruise before licking it as an apology. The soldier trailed down the skin, sucking and biting until the pale column was littered with blooming bruises. John leaned back, admiring his work and the panting detective before him. Sherlock whined, pulling John by the nape of the neck into another searing kiss. His lungs contracted as he was pushed deeper into the bed, barely able to get a breath in. John let out a low growl above him, thrusting against Sherlock. The detective gasped at the friction, bucking up irregularly. The white lust in his stomach grew with each rub against his leaking cock until he was sure he was going to cum. He gripped the soldier above him in a deadly hold, grinding his teeth together as he attempted to stop himself. Not yet. John seemed to realize the detectives state as he pulled back, a grin on his face. He stood up once more, allowing Sherlock to take gulps of sweet oxygen. The tan hands trailed down the pale chest, tracing every ridge and muscle. 

In rapt fascination John paused on the nipples, tweaking them with his fingers. Sherlock shifted beneath him, throwing back his head at the feeling. Charcoal curls were plastered against his forehead. His checks littered with red at the sensation. John let out an approved noise before suddenly bending down and enveloping one of the nipples in his mouth. Sherlock gasped at the wet warm feeling on his sensitive skin. The mouth worked in an almost professional manner, bringing forth moans and whimpers from the writhing man. Sherlock bucked his hips upwards, seeking release, but he was met with air. John pulled away with a wet pop before moving over to assault the other pink bud. Sherlock threw a hand over his face, his mouth opening up to plead with his partner.

“John please. Please. I-I need…” He bucked his hips up pointedly. John seemed to pretend to not hear him as he continued to twist and lick the nipple until it was cherry red. Sherlock felt frustration bloom in his chest at the snail's pace that they were taking. He was ready. He just wanted John. Inside him. Now. 

“John!” Sherlock snapped, “Get on with it. Come on I am ready.”

At lightning speed a large hand came up, enveloping the delicate neck in a strong hold. Sherlocks sentence died in his throat as his oxygen was cut off. He clawed at the hands, gasping, as John's dark blue eyes loomed above him.

“Really? Are you ready for this? Are you now, Sher?” 

John's hips, encased in tight trousers, pushed forward. Pointedly he brushed his cock against Sherlocks thigh, allowing him to feel him. The detective shook his head, the hand on his throat releasing him. Gasping in air he looked down, finally noticing how large the bulge in the trousers was. It was huge. Almost unnaturally huge. Was John that big? 

Curious pale fingers traveled down, shaking slightly from adrenaline, before they brushed over the large cock hidden behind tight material. John pushed his hips forward in appreciation, rubbing himself against the exploring hand. Sherlock gulped in fear at the thought of that being inside him. However, he could not deny the needle jab of want race through him as well. 

“Yes. I am ready.” Sherlock breathed out, rubbing harder. John grasped his wrist, stalling the movement. With a soft laugh he took both of the detectives hands and pinned them above his head; rendering the man completely at his whim. Sherlock leaned forward to capture the soldiers lips in a quick kiss, before John broke it apart. 

“Lets see,” John leaned down right next to the detective's ear, licking the earlobe pointedly. His voice dropped a few octaves, making a shiver race down Sherlocks spine, “If you can even take a finger, darling.”

Sherlock shivered at the soldiers' composure. He had never seen this side of John, but he liked it. He enjoyed giving in.

John pulled away, stepping to the side to rummage through the drawer and pull something out. It fell onto the bed with a soft thud. Sherlock peered over, though he had no time to observe the object before John was blocking his view. With quick efficiency he lifted the detective up, shucking off the shirt and throwing it across the room. Now they were both half-naked. Only the cloth on their legs remained as the final barrier between them. 

The soldier trailed his hands down the pale chest once more, thankfully leaving the red puffy nipples alone to instead settle on the waistline of the pants. Sherlock lifted his hips pointedly, allowing John to unbutton and chuck the material off in one smooth motion; effectively taking off the pants and the underwear. Sherlock was left naked and exposed; lying on his back. A heated blush overtook his face as he realized the position he was in. He turned his head to the side, hiding his face in the blanket as John's eyes roamed over his body appreciatively. The detective felt something keen of embarrassment rush through him. He had never been this exposed before, and John's heated gaze was not helping. 

A warm hand settled right above Sherlocks cock; causing the man to flinch in surprise. His hips move on their own accord, pushing up into the hand, though getting no friction. The fingers there toyed with the dark curls, circling around the cock and over the balls, but never touching directly. Sherlock whined loudly, bucking up into nothing, his cock glistening with pre-cum, bobbing into the open air. John chuckled at the needy display. One of his fingers trailed from the base up to the head, pushing at the slit. Hooded blue eyes watched the detective intently, relishing in the moan it brought from the plump lips.

“J-John, touch me.” Sherlock breathed. The knot in his stomach was to the point of pain. Any type of release was needed. If not, he was afraid he would go insane from the stimulation. 

“Beg for it.” John replied, repeating the motion.

Sherlock did not let his pride get in the way as he compiled, “Please, please touch me. Fuck, John, please. Please-”

He was cut off as John took him in his hand, moving up and down. Sherlock gasped as he was overtaken in the warm palm. His cock looked small compared to the large hand fondling him. The fingers tightened their hold, knowing exactly what to do to make the detective a writhing mess. Sherlock felt his mouth open in a silent cry as he closed in on the brink of his orgasm.

As if on cue, the hand disappeared. Sherlock felt tears prick his eyes as the sensation left him just as he was about to orgasm. He glared down at John with full force, his eyebrows scrunching up. A look of pain and pleasure played out on his features as he directed his delayed release on the soldier. John smirked at him before dropping down on his knees. His face settled before Sherlock’s cock, looking over the appendage with fascination. Sherlock felt his breath stop as he waited for John to lick him, suck him, anything. However, the soldier had other plans. 

Instead the tan hands pushed the detective flat on his back. Sherlock compiled, staring up at the ceiling, his breath irregular with anticipation as he heard John rummage around the bed. Seconds later, the pop of a cap was heard before a cold finger settled on Sherlocks thigh. The detective flinched at the feeling before relaxing as the finger rubbed his thigh, warming up the skin. Slowly, he felt it trail down, past his balls and to his entrance. Sherlocks breath became erratic as he felt it circle the tight muscle there. The finger pushed in lightly, pressing. Sherlock felt his body tense up, stopping the intrusion. 

John quickly used his other hand to palm at Sherlocks cock, diverting his attention. Sherlock gasped at the hot pleasure that he received from the motion. That moment of diversion allowed John to push in, until he was knuckle deep. Sherlock gritted his teeth, feeling himself clench around the finger. A burning pain spread through him as the muscles there were pushed apart. He whined, his legs coming up to try to push himself off the finger, but John stopped him, his hands leaving the cock to get a deadly hold on the pale hips. 

“John... John it hurts.” Sherlock whined again, trying to no avail to get the offensive finger out of him. John did not budge, though his grip loosened on the hips; a calloused thumb rubbed the delicate skin there in a soothing motion. With his legs up, Sherlock granted John access to push deeper, bringing a shrill whine from the detective. His cock was still rock hard, but the pain was dulling the pleasure he had experienced before. The finger was thick. It moved gently inside him, twisting and turning to stretch him out. Each movement brought a jolt of fiery pain. Sherlock brought up an arm, biting his skin there to muffle his noises of discomfort. 

“Johnnnn.” Sherlock gasped suddenly. A jolt of pleasure raced down his spine as he felt the finger inside him brush over a particular spot. John repeated the motion, confirming his findings. Sherlock let out a sigh as the pleasure overpowered the pain once more. The finger moved against the spot within him, pointedly stretching him and moving in and out. Sherlock reeled slightly, even pushing his hips down as the spot of pleasure was assaulted. The knot in his stomach began to form once more, but was quickly interrupted as John pulled out and prodded his entrance again. This time, with two large fingers. 

Sherlock flinched, moving up the bed and away. “No, no I can't.”

“You can.” John murmured. He gazed at the wide eyes of the detective before letting out a relenting sigh. He stood up, shucking off his pants and underwear. The material fell to the floor, exposing the deep red cock nestled in a bush of blond hair. Sherlock felt his mouth fall agape as he stared at John's length. It was huge, almost as big as his forearm. John only inserted one finger, and that hurt. That cock was not going to fit inside him. 

“Is that why you didn't-”

“Want to do anything sexual? Yeah. I didn't want to hurt you.” John replied softly.

Sherlock swallowed lightly, gazing at the thick cock. “It's fine, all fine.” He was unsure if he was trying to convince himself or John. But it was enough of an answer for them to resume. 

Tan hands settled on the detectives knees, spreading them open before John pressed into Sherlock, rubbing at the tight entrance. Sherlock felt his breath catch in his throat at the feeling. He looked up at John with wide eyes, hoping, pleading the soldier to not put it in. Not yet. John shook his head, leaning down to capture him in a hard kiss. Sherlock relaxed as John simply rubbed, not pushing in. He observed the feeling, enjoying the sensation of John's cock at his entrance. His hands came up, rubbing the scarred back as they thrusted against each other. John made his way down, biting the neck once more, going over any bruises that had not bloomed to their acceptable color and size. Sherlock let out a breathy moan, confidence overtaking him as he thrust down lightly, feeling John's wet head rub against him. 

“You like that?” John murmured into his skin.

“Yes.” 

“You want me? Do you want me inside of you? To fuck you until you can’t walk straight?”

“Yes.” Sherlock breathed. 

“Then,” John came up, locking them into a fierce gaze, “You need to relax. You are going to let me finger fuck you until you are ready for me. No rushing.”

Sherlock nodded, his mouth mute as John instructed him. He closed his eyes, allowing his body to relax into the touch. He focused on each caress, on each thrust, on the pleasure in his body. John trailed his hands away, shuffling about, before the large cock was replaced by two fingers. They were significantly slicked, almost dripping with the slippery liquid. Sherlock let out a shaky sigh as he pressed his hips down with more confidence than he thought he possessed. John pushed the fingers in slowly. The muscles began to burn, prompting the detective to turn his head and bite the blanket to stop any noise. John resumed his ministrations on the neck, diverting the attention from the pain. Slowly the fingers pushed in until they were nestled deep in the detective. With precision they moved around, finding the pleasurable spot within the slick walls. Sherlock whimpered a long high-pitched sound as he felt the digits rub the spot. He bucked down into them, ignoring the burning pain to focus on the unique pleasure the spot gave him. His neglected cock twitched between their bodies, wanting attention but not receiving any. 

“Good boy.” John whispered into his ear. Sherlock wanted to almost laugh at the phrase. But a sharp jab at the spot inside him made any words he had planned, blend into a lengthy moan. John smiled as he watched the detective respond to his touches. 

Sherlock clenched around the fingers, turning his head to kiss John's cheek and bring him back into a quick kiss on the lips. “More.” He whispered. 

The soldier complied. He pulled out, leaving an unfamiliar feeling of emptiness before three fingers began to push in. Sherlock could not suppress his squeak of pain. His lips scrunched together at the searing burn he felt. The digits did not pause on the account of his pained murmurs. John pressed in, not stopping until he was knuckle deep in the heated entrance. Sherlock shook his head, biting his inner cheek as he stared at the ceiling. John murmured soft words of comfort before trailing down Sherlocks chest and toying with the over-sensitive nipples there. Sherlock squirmed as the fingers began to move, pumping in and out in a slow movement. The detective flinched and hissed, trying desperately to let go of the pain, though that was hard to do. 

“Well you weren't lying about being a virgin.”

Sherlock paused his destruction of his inner cheek as he glanced down at John. The man was looking up at him, his mouth glistening with saliva as he stared at the detective with full blown pupils, leaving almost no familiar blue. Sherlock swallowed at the sight. 

“I like that.” John said. His fingers picked up pace, moving so that the detective's small body began to slide up and down the blankets. Sherlock gripped at the sheets, feeling everything slip out of his control. The pain was mixing with pleasure in a weird way that made it confusing to differentiate between the two. He snapped his gaze back down, a warm feeling racing through his chest as he caught the absolute lust on John's face. 

“Means you are mine. All mine, “ John licked a nipple, planting a soft bite afterwards, “I will be the only one to fuck you. Your body will belong to me.”

“Who said we w-will be together f-f-forever.” Sherlock snarked, though the words had little meaning as he was finger fucked roughly. His head was thrown back, mashing the usually bouncy curls against his sweat-laden forehead. 

“I said,” A large hand shot up, squeezing Sherlocks neck pointedly before dropping down to grip his hips in a relentless hold, “You are mine. Only mine.”

Sherlock did not have a chance to reply. Any clear memory of the conversation was wiped from his mind as he was dominated by John's fingers. They pressed at the soft spot inside him, causing searing sparks of pleasure that built his orgasm. The burning pain loomed with each thrust, but Sherlock could only moan in a haze as he was over-stimulated. By John's mouth on his nipples, his cock rubbing between their bodies, the fingers inside him, the strong hold on his hips. It was all so much. Yet so little. He needed more. 

“John.” Sherlock panted out, his hips moving with the motion of the fingers inside him. John paused, glancing at the flushed detective before pulling out slowly. The calloused fingers brushed his spot once more teasingly, making the detective arch his back, before pulling out completely. Sherlock felt himself clench around nothing. He looked down, watching as John stood up. His hand flicked out, bringing up a bottle of lube. He squirted a generous amount into his hand before stroking himself. Sherlock watched with rapt attention as John's large hands enveloped the bulging cock. It was mesmerizing to watch John's eyes flutter close as he stroked himself. The light blush on the soldiers cheeks. The way his chest began to heave. John opened his eyes, staring at Sherlock for a few seconds before taking the pale knees and pushing them up against the detectives chest. 

Sherlock allowed himself to be folded, before John threw the pale legs over his shoulders and leaned forward. His cock pushed at Sherlocks entrance with restrained force. It felt as if his heart would beat out of his chest as the realization hit him. He was here. With John. John was about to fuck him. 

“John.” 

“Sherlock.” John moaned. He steadied himself, pressing the smaller man into the bed until he was filling his vision completely. Pale green eyes flickered over John's face, mesmerizing every detail. His observations came to an abrupt halt as John pushed in. A pale hand shot up, grasping at the flexing biceps of the soldier as the cock tried to beach him. 

A pain like no other shot through his spine, setting in his lower back as John tried to push past his initial ring of muscle. Sherlock shouted, making the soldier pause. John's wide eyes stared down at the scrunched face of the detective; a bead of sweat sliding down his cheek and neck as he held himself above the smaller man. With intense self-control he paused, not moving forward or backward, but simply waiting for Sherlock to adjust. 

“It… it hurts. It won’t fit.” Sherlock shuttered out through gritted teeth. His fingernails dug into the tan biceps until there were white marks trailing along the skin. John did not show signs of pain as he held himself. With careful motions he leaned down; making sure to not jostle them. He planted a soft kiss on the detective's lips before trailing to the left and suckling on the earlobe. He nipped at the delicate skin, twisting it with his teeth. Sherlock whined, his body moving involuntarily, causing him to impale an inch of the cock in himself. John let out a groan of frustration as he felt Sherlocks heat envelop the head. He gave a rather harsh bite to the delicate skin of the ear, leaving red marks, as he controlled his body. 

“Sher-... Sherlock.” John moaned deeply. The sound sent a shiver through the detective, lust hazing his mind at the thought of being fucked by this strong soldier above him. He shut his eyes tightly as he nodded, prompting John to push in a little more. No more than another inch, and Sherlock was tapping out once more. His cock laid in between them, twitching with stimulated want and lust but also losing it’s momentum from the pain. It was akin to burning one's skin on something hot. A cold flash of pain followed by consistent burning heat. Sherlock took a deep breath before nodding once more. 

John did not move, instead he leaned down, bumping their noses together, “We can go slow. You don't have to force it.”

“Yeah? You seem to be struggling.” Sherlock replied between shuttered gasps. 

“Well… you are incredibly tight.” John moaned, “Never even fingered yourself? Hmm?”

“No.” If his face could, it would be painted a deeper red at the confession he was making. This was all new to him. But it seemed, his response elicited a satisfied noise from John. The soldier was pleased to be able to show the ropes to Sherlock himself. 

Sherlock scooted down, taking a bit more this time. A foreign feeling of absolute fullness began to take over his body. He was being filled in ways he could not imagine. The cock in between his legs was splitting him open. He genuinely wondered if he could walk after this. Thin pale legs shook, though they were supported by John's towering body. Sherlock moved a swift hand in between them, palming his half-hard cock; with a few strokes he brought it to full hardness. The head began to leak, allowing him to smear the liquid and bring out deeper bouts of pleasure as it began to balance out the pain. Whilst stroking himself, he nodded. Immediately, John moved forward, snapping his hips forward. Sherlock let out a pained shout, his hand stilling. Vaguely, he wondered if John would tear him in half literally before they could do anything. 

“Sherlock, look at me.” Pale green eyes dragged away from the fascinating white ceiling to settle on the calming blue eyes. The soldier was sweating, a sheen shimmering coat on his skin. His hands were now shaking lightly as he attempted to hold himself up. Sherlock could see the thin veil of control coating the soldiers' composure, though it was slowly peeling away. “I need to… I need to push in all the way. This is just making it worse for you.” 

Sherlock nodded, though he was unsure if that was the correct answer. A gentle hand cupped the back of his head, bringing him into the crook of John's neck. “Here, bite down.” 

The detective complied. Gingerly he placed his teeth over the thick skin, applying light pressure. John took a deep breath, gripping the matted curls of Sherlock's hair before he pushed himself into the detective’s virgin entrance in one swift motion. Sherlock felt blood hit his tongue as he bit down. The coppery taste flooded his mouth as he rode out the initial waves of pain. A voice in the back of his head screamed for him to stop, but he held himself still, willing it away. John moved his hand; tweaking the sensitive nipples.

“So fucking tight. Sher, you are… “ John couldn't seem to find the right words as he panted above him. Sherlock released his hold on the neck, dropping his head back. With hooded eyes he stared at the soldier. A feeling of absolute fullness and pain enveloped his body, a twinge of pleasure dancing in between the two feelings. His hands shook by his sides, prompting him to curl them around the blanket. A sloppy kiss was planted in his lips, followed by another, and another until John was kissing him fiercely. They engaged in a mashing of teeth and skin. Saliva dripped down their chins as they took their emotions out on one another; one brimming with pain and the other with overwhelming lust. John was the first to pull back, allowing the detective to roam his eyes over the bleeding bite on the soldier's neck. Something keen of happiness raced through him as he observed the mark he left; his own neck littered with so many bruises that there was more purple and blue than pale white. 

Sherlock took calculated breaths as he felt his body mold and adjust to the giant cock inside him. It felt right to be full of John, to have the man inside him. His mind was happy, his body, however, was not. It was hard to find a good balance between the pain. Carefully he rotated his hips, feeling the hardness inside him move with the motion. His eyes fluttered shut as he repeated the motion a few more times; a smile painting his lips as he listened to the lovely sounds of grunts and growls that the action brought from John's lips. 

“John… you are so fucking big. God.”

“Can I… can I move?” John asked, his voice hoarse. Sherlock gave another experimental twist, jumping slightly as the bulge inside him brushed over the delicious spot from earlier. A flood of pleasure overtook him. He ignored John's question, instead throwing his head back as he repeated the motion. Over and over; lightly fucking himself on John's cock. 

“Fuckkkkk. John.” Sherlock moaned. The soldier dropped his head down next to Sherlock; panting into the blanket as he held himself still. Sherlock paused, watching as John's chest heaved. He was letting Sherlock take control, if only for a little while. But the pain was not going to leave. John was simply too big, and Sherlock was damn tired of waiting for it to go away.

“Move.” Was the only command needed before John was snapping his hips forward. He pulled out before slamming in, filling Sherlock so deep that if the two observed, they could see the bulge in his flat stomach. Pale fingers clawed their way up until they were scrapping the tan back as John began to truly fuck him into the bed. Sherlocks small body slid across the sheets as John's strong body overlapped him with every thrust. The soldier's eyebrows were knitted together in concentration as he lifted himself, rolling his shoulders up to fold the detective beneath him even more, allowing deeper access. Sherlock rolled his eyes back as John filled him up with every thrust. His cock bounced between them, unattended. The pain remained, but it was now mimicking pleasure. Sherlock enjoyed the pain. Perhaps because it was becoming hard to tell the difference, but he could only whimper and moan as John fucked him. A particularly hard thrust had the detective seeing stars. The knot in his stomach from earlier coming forth. It felt different now with John inside him. More intense. He wanted- no… he  _ needed _ relief. Now. Please. 

“John, touch me.” Sherlock pleaded. He leaned forward, mouthing at John's neck as he waited for the familiar warm touch on his cock. However, nothing happened. If anything the thrusts became more precise and deep, hitting the spot inside him. His mouth was no longer able to hold back the babble of high pitched moans as his prostate was assaulted. 

“No, you are going to cum on my cock. And that's it. Got it darling?” John growled.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back as his body began to buzz with pleasure. He scratched the tan back to ground himself as he was fucked over and over. The large cock filling him before pulling out. It left an aching sense of emptiness before John reminded him again of the absolute full feeling of being filled. Sherlock drank in the feeling like water, unable to satisfy the thirst. His cock ached harshly as his stomach knotted with an orgasm. He was so close. Almost within reach. If only the damned soldier would touch him. 

“Please John, please.” Sherlock babbled out. Saliva dripped down his chin as he attempted to word his needs, but his body was out of sync with his mind. It was all too much. He was a mess. John was no better as he panted above the smaller man with keen concentration. Relishing in the effect he had. 

“No, no darling. Either you cum on my cock, or you don't cum at all.” John purred into his ear. Sherlocks response was something of a wail as John began to pound into him relentlessly. The silence of the room was filled with obscene sounds of skin slapping. The men's moans and grunts mixed in perfect harmony as they took pleasure from each other. Sherlock opened his mouth, letting it hang open as he lost control of himself. He could feel the large cock filing him over and over. Hitting the delicious spot. Filling him completely. He could feel John's strong hands on his body. The wet mouth mapping his sensitive nipples. 

The bubble of pleasure in his stomach burst violently as John thrust into him so hard that he slid across the bed. The white hot orgasm unfurled inside, spilling out. Sherlock tried to shout, to moan, but all that came out was a soft wail as his throat clenched and his eyes rolled back into his skull. John pounded into him as Sherlocks cock spasmed, releasing milky liquid between them. 

John could feel the tight muscles contract around him in an impossible hard vice. He leaned down, biting the pale neck violently as he released himself inside of the detective. 

Sherlock rode out the waves of his orgasm, way past all his cock could produce. But the pleasure kept coming and coming as John continued to fuck into his prostate until he was suddenly riding out the second wave of his orgasm. Sherlock floated into a hazy world of nothingness as his body went limp. The adrenaline leaked out of his system as the deep desire of a full fucking was sated. John released his hold, giving the offending bite a few tentative licks before he pulled out gingerly. Sherlock could only moan softly as he was left empty. 

John stood up with shaky legs. One hand came up to balance himself as he regained his composure. After a few deep breaths and forceful blinks he padded around, gathering a wet cloth and an extra blanket. Quickly he cleaned himself and the limp detective. 

Though the smaller man whined in protest, John pushed him to the side to pull out the stained blanket and replace it with the new plump one. It smelled lightly of familiar detergent, calming Sherlocks senses as he floated in and out of reality; lost between the real world and the pleasure state of his mind. John gazed at the completely fucked detective. He took in every sight, every sound, every smell. Once he was fully stated he laid down, bringing the detective into a strong hug.

“I love you.” John whispered, not expecting an answer from the half-sleeping detective. He was partially correct. Only when the tan chest slowed with heavy breaths and a soft snore, did Sherlock let a soft smile paint his features as he scooted closer to the warm body. 

“I love you too.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any spelling errors. Feedback is very much appreciated! :)


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